


The Mysterious Vanishing of C.C. Tinsley

by BergaraHoe (flannelfeelings)



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: 1940s AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, C.C. Tinsley - Freeform, Crime, Criminal Ricky Goldsworth, Detective C.C. Tinsley, Drama, Guns, M/M, Old Fashioned AU, Old timey flirting, Suspense, The Sodder Children, Tinsworth, Tricky Goldsworth more like, buzzfeed unsolved - Freeform, ricky goldsworth - Freeform, that was bad, wtf else do i even tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19781977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelfeelings/pseuds/BergaraHoe
Summary: It's been a wonder for decades- puzzling the nation and all who encounter the story of the Sodder Family.What happened to detective C.C. Tinsley?





	The Mysterious Vanishing of C.C. Tinsley

A fog of cigar smoke had settled over the _Rigamarole Pub_ as Chicago citizens filtered in and out, ordering drinks and swaying to the low lull of the jukebox in the corner. This late in the evening, most chaste couples were indoors, safely tucked in bed. At this hour, the bar’s name was certainly earned. The patronage of this particular pub was one that detective C.C. Tinsley could only describe as “riff raff.”

Tinsley was seated comfortably at a bar-top stool, a glass of whiskey in hand and a cigar between his lips. The sound of Jane Morgan’s _Fascination_ drifted through the bar in a sultry, winding beat. Today had been a particularly stressful one; he was on a long-winded hunt for a family of missing children who’d escaped a fire- supposedly. Tinsley didn’t want to admit to himself, or the children’s parents, that they probably had simply died. The trail was running dry, and every lead he turned up was a dead-end.

The smooth whiskey and relaxed atmosphere of this bar softened the blow of his failures substantially. He readjusted on his stool, leaning his lanky arms across the bar as he ordered another glass. He was stopped in Chicago following a pretty useless lead of an eyewitness sighting. Tinsley was starting to think that lead had been completely blowing smoke; and he’d wasted quite a few dollars to get the information.

 _Grimy bastards in this town_ , he thought bitterly as his next glass was set before him on the bartop.

“This one’s on that fellow,” the barkeep jerked his chin toward a table behind Tinsley. He craned his neck, to see a man sitting in the back corner of the bar, right by the jukebox.

He was a shorter man of Asian descent, with bronzed skin and broad shoulders. Slicked, black hair rested neatly under his dark slouch hat. He wore a pair of charcoal gray trousers and a cream-colored button up tucked in neatly, paired with an unbuttoned coat. When C.C. met his eyes, the other man nodded once, and held up his own glass in greeting.

C.C. turned back to the bartop without response, glancing down at his drink suspiciously. He lifted the glass to his nose, inhaling once, but smelling nothing out of place about the whiskey. Still, he set it back down and called to the bartender to pay his tab. He was not about to accept an unsolicited drink from a stranger. For all he knew, this man was not happy with Tinsley’s snooping around, and intended to stop him for good.

He glanced behind him once more, and noticed the man was staring at him. The expression on his face was unreadable, but there was now a glint in his eyes that C.C. could only describe as...hurt?

Tinsley turned back to the bar and left his money, frowning. Before leaving, he headed over to the lavatory to relieve himself. He was gone merely three minutes, and when he returned to the bar, the other man had disappeared.

Instantly, Tinsley’s senses went into overdrive. Where had he gone? He’d taken the opportunity of C.C. stepping out to spring some sort of plan into action, surely. C.C.’s hand went to the pistol tucked neatly in his belt. He didn’t want to have to use it, but if it came down to his life and the life of a criminal, Tinsley knew he’d have the right.

Cautiously, he stepped out of the bar. A small downpour of droplets had begun descending on the city, and the streets were clearing out quickly as people rushed inside. A noise from behind him alerted C.C.’s attention, and he whirled around, seeing movement beside the bar. He lurched forward, caution suspended as he pursued the cause of the disturbance.

“You!” he exclaimed as he noticed it was the man from inside. The man reached an arm out, but before he could complete whatever action he was beginning, C.C. grabbed his wrist. He twisted the attacker’s arm around, tucking it up against his back, and shoved the man into the brick outside the bar. He grabbed his other arm and twisted it back as well, cuffing his wrists in C.C.’s own hand, and pressing his elbow into the offender’s back as he pinned him against the wall.

“ _Someone’s_ on edge,” The man, whose face was smushed against brick, quipped.

“Who are you?” Tinsley growled, shoving his arm harder into the space between the man’s shoulder blades, “why are you following me? What are your intentions?”

A snort from the shorter man filled the air, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Tinsley hesitated for a moment, wondering if this simpleton could actually be a trained operative, or if he was just an idiotic bargoer. However, a small doubt crept back into his mind: _what if he’s just playing dumb?_

“Don’t act a fool,” Tinsely hissed, “tell me who you work for.”

“Maybe you oughtta pull your panties from your rear and let me go, and I can explain this.”

Scorned, Tinsley snarled, “I don’t have time for your _unbearably_ sharp wit.” he removed the pistol from his belt and pressed it into the man’s neck, “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what this is?”

“Do you hold ever possible suitor at gunpoint?”

C.C. froze, confusion overtaking his expression. “ _Suitor_?” he repeated, dumbfounded.

“Who _else_ treats you to a complimentary drink?”

Slowly, C.C. released his captive from his intense grasp. The man turned, rubbing his neck and face. There was a red imprint of the brick wall marring the smooth skin of his cheek, and rain was pirouetting off the brim of his hat.

“I apologize,” Tinsley said earnestly, “I thought you were...never matter. I didn’t realize what was happening.”

The man shrugged nonchalantly , “not the first time I’ve been attacked outside a bar. However, I’m not usually one to be taken down by a man of lesser brawn.”

C.C. glanced at his own arms, comparably smaller than this man’s. He shook off a brief moment of insecurity, and faced the other man, “Well, I know how to handle myself. What’s your name?”

The dark-skinned man smirked, eyes running up Tinsley’s body with an appraising air, “Yes, you certainly do big fella. My name is Ricky Goldsworth.” he stuck his hand out for C.C. to shake, “and yourself?”

“I’m C.C. Tinsley,” he shook the man’s hand, allowing himself a small, cautious smile, “thank you for the drink.”

“Are you an officer?” Ricky asked, eyes focusing on the pistol still in Tinsley’s hand.

Quickly, he tucked the weapon back into it’s safe spot in his belt, and shook his head, “No, not quite. My work is...somewhat confidential.”

Ricky quirked an eyebrow up curiously, “Oh? Well, hopefully that’s not the only pistol you’re carrying around.” he winked salaciously.

C.C’s face felt warm, heat burning a red blush across his cheeks. This man was certainly interested in him, it would seem. Which was rather foreign for Tinsley. Given his work, he didn’t often experience flings. He traveled constantly, never settled down, and usually didn’t have much time for the affection of romantic partners. Tinsley knew this would not be a long-lasting affair, though, he didn’t think this short spitfire minded that either. Still, the prospect of even one night of enjoyment after such a harrowing few weeks, enticed him.

“Shall we head back inside?” Tinsley inquired, gesturing to the bar, “allow me to return the favor of a drink.”

Ricky nodded, smirking, “I read you like the paper Mr. Tinsley. Let’s go.”

C.C. turned his back on Ricky, heading out toward the street and shielding his eyes from the now pounding rain with his hand. His worries lifted, and excitement about a plausible night of fun, he was feeling much more optimistic. Perhaps this was just what he needed to recharge before diving back into the case of the Sodder children.

His joy was instantly lessened as he felt a sharp jolt of pain ricochet through the back of his head. He fell forward, legs betraying him as his face hit the concrete in the alleyway. Rain beat against his coat, as his vision blurred with the agony swimming across his skull.

He rolled over on his back, blinking rapidly as Ricky came into his sights, standing above him. In his hand, he held his own revolver, which he’d just used to whip C.C. on the cranium. He cocked the gun into position. Tinsley lay on his back on the ground, squinting against rain and the pain in his head, eyes parallel with the barrel of Ricky’s gun.

“What is this?” he groaned, fighting the urge to vomit. The swimming, floating tremors in his head instilled a sense of nausea in him.

Ricky shook his head, laughing quietly, “They told me you were one to watch out for, and you almost got the dime on me.” he knelt beside C.C. keeping the gun trained between his eyes, “but your loneliness betrayed your wits.”

“You’re part of this,” C.C. realized with horror, “The Sodder children, they’re alive, aren’t they? Who took them?? What is the reason for kidnapping children?”

“You really should’ve thought twice before making a career out of sticking your big schnoz where it doesn’t belong.” Ricky _tsked_ , shaking his head with faux sadness, “such a shame though, if only you’d enjoyed your drink when you had the chance. That would’ve been a much smoother departure than what’s in store for you now.”

“You tricked me.” C.C was ashamed at how wounded his voice sounded, a mere whisper in the cold, beating showers.

Ricky’s smirk was a flash of white in the dark, blinding downpour, “That’s part of the gig, Tinsley. I hope you’ve made your peace.”

C.C. fought the pain in his head and moved to stand, to try to fight for his life. However, the butt of Ricky’s gun collided with his forehead, and he collapsed back to the wet pavement, groaning in pain.

"Ah ah ah," Ricky chided him, as though he were a misbehaving child, "Stay put Mr. Tinsley."

Before C.C. could move, Ricky's finger moved on the trigger. The sound of a gunshot rang in his ears, and his sight went dark.


End file.
